I Wish I was Extra Ordinary
by Canadino
Summary: No, Jack, you're right; people usually don't introduce themselves by tumbling into bed with you. But it was all in the interest of saving the world, so suck it up. SuperpowersAU! Jack/Simon, Ralph/Simon, Roger/Eric; T for language, implied sex
1. Introductions are made

**Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the story idea and only some of the witty remarks. I own so little; so please don't steal.**

Background music: -

I Wish I was Extra Ordinary

"Shit."

Although his memory is hazy, Jack does not need to look far to know what probably conspired last night. He is lying naked under blankets that are an ugly red-orange color that he does not recognize, on a bed he does not remember getting on, with a boy he doesn't recall talking to. While a part of him is willing to believe that perhaps they had just gotten a little bit too drunk and had decided to take their clothes off on a whim, the unsightly used condom floating around in the folds of the sheets blatantly reminds him he is not seven and this is not a sleepover. He stares at it, grotesquely milky white, and says again,

"Shit."

He wants to find his boxers. But they are not on the bed. He looks over the edge of the mattress, not really wanting to expose himself and look around the room that isn't his; but they are not on the floor either. There is a sock, though, and it is sea green but he doesn't own socks in that color.

Probably he wants to find out who this boy is. He does not remember leaving the dorm during the party, but if he cannot recall what happened between him and the raven haired youth next to him (was it legal? He cannot believe it happened. It didn't happen, did it?), he doubts he can think back to if he did go outside. There are no pill bottles around to confirm whose room it is. There are no posters screaming school spirit. Jack's head hurts. He decides to focus on something other than frantic, panicking thoughts.

Well, he has _that_ power and he may as well use it.

Jack swallows as he rubs his hands together. He doesn't need to, but it can prepare him in a useless mental way. He's gotten over the fact that he has the ability; psychometry – he touches things and can feel what has happened to them and the people they have seen. He wishes he could glorify it by calling himself _object whisperer_ but in fact, it is a hasslesome talent. He has seen more than what he wants by accidentally brushing against something. But on days like this, he remembers it's actually useful in its annoying, paranormal way.

He does not want to touch it, but there is nothing he can be sure of that will give him in the memory, and people do not work as good mediums. He swallows again, extends his finger, closes his eyes as he pokes the ugly _thing_ on the bed.

_A red plastic cup, half full of some unknown substance. Supported by a slender wrist, attached to an unfamiliar body, jeans hanging off slightly feminine hips. Wallflower. Jack sees him, steers around the moving bodies around him to the wall. Lean against the wall. Smile. _

_Cheers. The feeling of two cups knocked against each other. The feeling of lips knocked against each other, the feeling of tongues clumsy and wet; drunk, intoxicated, light-headed. The beats of the music from the party tap a steady, rhythmic tune in his brain as he kisses this boy, his name is_

_The crinkle of a wrapper. The cool dorm air when it hits the skin. But it's hot. The boy's eyes, hazy, glitter when he pulls Jack forward, back onto the bed. Latex. Heat. Ah…_

[=]

He uses a razor because it's the most convenient. Smashing a marble paperweight on his fingers will only result in unnecessary noise that will wake his parents. Jumping out the window is too extreme. Electrocution may be painful. Ralph's eyes are wide as he holds the blade over his palm, transfixed as the bathroom light bounces off the surface of the silver.

"Stabby rip stab, stab," he whispers. He lowers the blade and it descends, slicing into his hand.

It's painful and blood comes bubbling to the surface. He takes the blade out and holds it over the sink so the blood can run into the sink. He stares at his hand in awe. It's throbbing and bloody and gone. He turns his hand around, then back so his palm is practically in his face. The cut is gone. The blood is gone. The only trace is the razor that still retains its blood.

"No way." He wants to scream this, but he's really so surprised it doesn't come out his throat louder. He nicks his arm and watches as the blood creeps along the surface of the skin, then as if time reverses, inches back toward the wound, tucks itself back under the skin, and sews it up as if he hadn't hurt himself at all. "Wizard." He thought it was just his imagination when he tries to find the papercut he knows he had during study hall and cannot. But this…this is on another level.

"I always knew I was superhero material!"

[=]

They usually come to him in dreams; like the inferno nightmare – the sensation of running through the streets of the city as it burns to the ground. The image of the man with the pig's head; the smell of soot and anguish as he tries to find a place where the fire hasn't touched. The heat is overwhelming. He cannot breathe. He suffocates.

In actuality, they come to him in faints.

Today, he is sitting up in bed, but he knows he's still sleeping. The ginger from last night is holding his head in his hands, but he shouldn't be embarrassed – although it _did_ hurt (as expected for his first time), Simon found Jack Merridew's skills in bed to be very adequate. Jack does not remember his name. In fact, Jack does not seem to remember anything last night so he has used his powers on the condom.

His dream self explains that he can see the future and saw Jack in a dream so he has to find him and acquaint himself with him. "Through sex?" Jack shouts, and it's a funny thing to say so Simon laughs. The silly man seems to think underage relations is more important than the fact that he's encountered another person with supernatural powers. Simon is seventeen and only one year under the law – and no one will know because he doesn't intend to tell.

"That's not the point," Jack will say, sounding utterly defeated.

Simon blinks his eyes open and Jack is already rocking back and forth, clutching his head as if he can teleport into the past and undo everything. The motion is disturbing the bed and feels like he is on a boat on the stormy sea. But he does not mind because he's seen another face in the dream – a blonde, indestructible and confident. He doesn't know outside of instinct why he must collect all the special people together, but he has the feeling the hellish future can be stopped. He is terrified of the man with the pig's head. He wants to forget seeing it, but he cannot control his visions.

But, he was surprised to discover, that when Jack held him, he could forget. He knows he's just met this man and he shouldn't let his guard down, but after all, he's just slept with him, so there's really nothing to be worried about, really. And he can see the future after all. "Your underwear's under the bed," Simon mumbles sleepily, knocking down the first domino of the set.

[=]

_I can see Candice's panties at this angle, Sam._

_I totally thought teddy bears were so fifth grade, Eric._

The twins giggle.

[=]

His weight is a sensitive subject, but not because he can't help but be fat. Pygmalion could be anything but fat. Seriously. He just chooses the life of fat because it is most convenient to him, because he has thought the whole thing through beforehand.

If he makes himself skinny, people will want to be his friends or want him to play sports. If he becomes close to a large group of people or becomes a superstar of the field, he may accidentally let down his guard and expose that he can mold his body into whatever shape he likes. He will be subject to lab tests like in those sci-fi movies. He does not want to be dissected and prodded at. He likes his life very much, thank you.

So he considers it a great willpower to withstand names like _Fatty, Piggy_, because really, those are shallow, insignificant consequences in relation to the fact that the world will probably implode upon itself when it realizes that Pygmalion Stout is human clay.

[=]

To say that Roger hates the world would be an understatement because hate is not a strong enough word.

He knows his life is fucked up. It's very cliché, really. His father is in prison. His mother is a crack whore. He hasn't actually gone home in months. He lives on the streets and the only reason no one has pulled him over or given him a hard time is because he can hack into their minds and make them hurt so much they pass out and he can make his escape.

He doesn't kill anyone because murder just makes the whole business so much damn harder.

He sits in alleyways because he doesn't want to be seen. He will infiltrate the minds of anyone who even dares _mention_ he is a troubled teen with issues and turn them into a drooling mass of idiocy. He is not afraid to do that. Roger watches as a rat makes its way across from him. Even the animals know to fear him. But he is not feeling merciful today. The rat has just looked at him the wrong way. He stares at the rat, seeing the nerves of its tiny brain, the make of its minute skull.

The rat squeals like a bitch that hasn't been paid and before it can even cough up another mouthful of blood, it kneels over and bites the dust. Roger spits into the shadows. What a waste. He sees the shadow make its way toward him and ignores it. He can return the favor twenty-fold.

But the voice that calls out to him is not vicious. "Roger Doloris," it hisses, sounding positively malicious in a smirking way. "I believe I have an offer you will not want to refuse."

[=]

They call him Lord of the Flies, and there is no room for doubt. He feels a loathing for everything about this place. Humanity, that forced this hideous appearance on him. The specials, who were not able to do a thing and mocked him for not controlling his powers. He will make them all pay, and it will burn as hot as the hate he feels.

He knows the boy is curious, but will not open his mouth so he speaks up. "I know you're wondering what happened to me," he says, as Roger Doloris glances at him with dark eyes. "And I will explain. I am not afraid of speaking about my past. It is the past that creates the future, after all."

Roger nods.

"I, like you and a select number of other cursed individuals, have genes that code for unusual abilities. As for myself, I used to be an ordinary man who happened to be able to change himself to look like any animals. I scared my mother by hiding behind the corner and barking like a dog; bless her soul, she was always afraid of dogs." He strokes his chin, slightly tufted with cottony hairs. "I could do any animal imitations; but I could not do so in public. You see, I had to hide to do them, as my head always turns into the animal in question before I can speak their language."

"It was a practical joke; a couple of friends and I were playing a prank on a classmate of mine in college. After it ensued, we were making fun; and purely by luck I accidentally slipped into pig mode. They did not let me live it down. They turned on me. Foolishly I allowed fear and surprise to completely take hold of me – and after that horrible night, I could not turn back to my human form.

"It took a while to completely alienate myself away from my tormentors and even more to learn the language of humans again. It is not natural for pigs to speak, you see." He chuckles, shaking his head so the droopy ears flap. Roger does not stare. "I had heard while in my time of isolation away from society that there is a group of specials…or individuals endowed with powers…that specialize in these sort of circumstances. They can erase memories and set things straight. I went to seek them immediately after I could communicate again, but they disappointed me greatly. They claimed they could not fix me because it was a mental block that prevented me from changing back and actually attempted to imprison me for being so brash about my powers. I was going to have none of that. I collected a small following of fellow specials unhappy with the governing specials' methods. Together, we disposed of them. As we speak, young Roger, the specials world is presently in chaos without that group of highly skilled specials. This is the perfect time to seize power.

"We will, simply, take over the world. No one will laugh at us again, or give us grievances. No special will have to suffer, but for that to happen, we must get them all on my side. Many claim to follow the governing specials, or the Pack's, code and refuse to alliance. We have them in custody.

"Recently, a seer of mine claims to have seen a group of youths overthrowing me. They will have a seer as well. We must find them before they discover any weak spots of ours. We must not let them interfere." The Lord of the Flies turns to Roger. "We will eliminate them, flying around like these pesky flies." He waves a hand around; flies have congregated around his head since its transformation. "I know you do not care for these matters; but I know you value your powers. With me, you can utilize them to your heart's content. You too can avenge those who have hurt you. That is your deepest wish, isn't it?"

Roger merely stares at him. The Lord takes this as agreement and turns to walk away when Roger speaks up. "Sir," the boy says in forced politeness, "would you like to kill those flies for you?"

The Lord laughs. "Actually, Mr. Doloris, these are part of my charm." He laughs until he snorts and tears come to his beady piggy eyes. "But thank you for the offer."

[=]

The stage is The Island; the island of the highest technology and intellect – the place with the highest collection of specials. It houses all the influences of the rest of the world – without it, the planet will become a war zone. All politics and order stem from The Island. The pieces of any puzzle can be found there, from the black card of death to the ruby cheeks of love and the answers are there if you only care to look.

Welcome to The Island.

Owari

[=]

Note: NO. That is the answer you will get for _will you please continue this please please please? _And _do you own all the stupid references you peppered through the story_? Because 1) I seriously cannot haul on this new AU and 2)I don't own them. This wasn't even supposed to be dark and ominious. I don't even know what happened. So NO. Thanks.


	2. There is a chase scene

**Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the story idea and only some of the witty remarks. I own so little; so please don't steal.**

Background music: -

When Eric opens his eyes, he is aware that his head is throbbing. He can't remember ever having the effects of a migraine being so painful. He feels as if someone had physically entered his head and decided to throw some tacks and pins into his brain. Trying to blink the fading pain away, he tries to think how he ended up on his couch in a place he can't really place.

"You're awake."

Eric jumps, his head shooting up from the couch and resuming its round of throbbing. The speaker is a dark boy sitting a distance away from him, hunched over in his seat watching him. Eric searches his head frantically for some sort of explanation. Where is Sam? He never goes anywhere without Sam.

"I guess you want to know to know where you are."

Eric brings his arm behind him to support him, as the throbbing is making him a little light-headed. He winces and realizes there's an awful bruise on his arm – looking at it, he remembers a little bit. This boy who looks at him like his next meal had come up to them as they were walking back home. They had wanted to walk around him but suddenly the boy had grabbed him (and made this bruise, whoa). He had tried to fight him off, and so had Sam.

"All you need to know is that you're under the care of the Lord of the Flies."

The boy had done a very good keeping Sam away and had knocked the wind out of his brother. Eric was about to return the favor when suddenly, his head was locked in a vice grip from something he could not see. Stars that could not be blinked away filled his sight and the hand around his arm was pulling him along until he could not keep conscious from the pain.

"Your parents will be warned not to contact the authorities. Not that that would matter; the Lord would have that problem taken care of in that case."

"Who are you?" Eric managed to croak out. The window next to the couch explained they were in one of the high-rises he had seen in the city, but he could not tell exactly which one. He did not know if they were still on The Island. The room looked like a waiting room of sorts, with soft chairs and a table with an innocent vase. He might have thought he was in a hospital, except there was a cold atmosphere surrounding the very building. "Where am I?"

The boy did not respond for a while, and Eric had started to give up getting an answer when in a low voice, came, "This is the Lord's headquarters."

"Who?"

"The Lord of the Flies," the boy said bluntly, before closing down the inquiry. "Roger," he adds, when Eric opens his mouth to ask his name again. "I've been charged to keep you in line."

"What do you want me here for?" Eric asked, feeling the need to shrink into the corner of the couch. He supposes he could try for the door, but Roger looks like he could stop him before he got there. Something about the dark boy is dangerous, Eric knows. He has to weigh his options carefully. He has to make Roger off guard.

"Bait," Roger says, calculating as he watches Eric over folded hands. "We will use you to lure out your brother."

"If you wanted Sam too, why didn't you take him with you?" Eric shot. His head is starting to ache again, and he tries to turn away from the setting sun outside the window, but it doesn't seem dependant on light.

"It's not about your brother, but the company he will keep. The Lord knows that he will be in contact with a certain individual that we must dispose of. You will lure him out and we will destroy him before he destroys the city."

Eric is about to ask why he doesn't use the police to arrest the person in question, but he knows almost instinctively that Roger and the aforementioned Lord probably aren't working in condition with the law. After all, they would not have kidnapped him if they were. He does not know what he had gotten into, and he doesn't care to know. He must act now. He makes a movement to swing a leg off the couch and get a running start.

Just the twitch makes his head explode and Eric cries out, clutching at his temples. Wild fire and ringing invades and attacks his head. Roger stands and walks over to him, looking amused and self-satisfied. "I wouldn't try and escape if I were you," he said gravely, squatting next to Eric to get a look at his pain-stricken face. "I can really make you hurt."

He wants to send out a telepathic message to Sam for help but he can't even formulate any words, the flaring pain is so intense. The way Roger watches him, he knows the boy is making it hurt more for kicks. There's a sadistic smile on his lips and the pain gets white hot. He has to stop it someway. He doesn't think he has the strength to lash out; his knees feel like jelly at the moment.

He must go for the surprise factor. And there is one way to do it. Eric summons all the strength he can muster through the torture and leans forward to kiss Roger. Roger's focus is broken and Eric sighs in relief when he feels the hurt subside. He collapses back on the couch, trying to rub the remnants of the mental attack away. Roger looks at him, unreadable.

"Do that again."

Eric looks at him incredulously. "No!" he says, because this captor is bat-shit crazy and it wasn't like he kissed him because he wanted to. But Roger frowns and the smarting is back, beating into Eric's head like a rough drum. So when Roger descends on him, Eric lets him kiss him, and opens his mouth obediently when Roger bites him.

[=]

"So let me get this straight," Jack says, struggling to keep up with Simon, who apparently had an annoying habit of skipping every other step while walking. That, paired with the habit of making him cancel his morning and afternoon classes and threatening to report him on charges of indecency and sexual relations with a minor if he refused, made this Simon character that Jack still did not really know all the more irritating. "You can foresee the future."

"To an extent, yes." He turned in mid air, nearly colliding with a man coming in his direction on the sidewalk. The streets were relatively packed for ten o' clock in the morning. Simon's shoes, worn and faded, slapped the pavement in an even beat as Jack quickened his pace to avoid losing Simon in the crowd. He did not envision the city as the ideal spot to be discussing their powers or whatever Simon wanted to discuss with him. "I see it in sleep and sometimes in faints."

"And this has something to do with me how…?"

Simon's smile, if possible, grew wider. "Why not? If you can see what's happened to something just by touching it, why shouldn't we meet?" Jack opened his mouth and Simon interjected before he could get a word out. "And make out and go the full monty, et cetera, et cetera." No one passing them bothered to give them a second look; in all other standards, they are just a pair of ordinary teenagers mucking around and skipping school. "Likes should attract likes, right?"

"I think it goes opposites attract," Jack said darkly.

"That logic also applies to us, I think." Jack really wished Simon would just crash into someone already. He refused to believe anyone had such luck that by skipping backwards, they managed to avoid moving bodies they weren't actually looking at. But then again, with the way Simon was skillfully maneuvering himself, he had probably already seen this scenario.

"Cut the crap, kid. Tell me what you're up to."

Simon cocked his head, finally pivoting on his heel before falling into step with Jack. "Alright, I'll level with you. It's not something I can freely discuss, though. I think he might have eyes and ears everywhere." Before Jack can ask anything about who the obscure pronoun _he_ is, Simon pulls him into a side street, where there are relatively less bodies roaming around. The atmosphere around Simon changed; glancing around, he shoved his hands in his pockets and started.

"A couple months ago, I had these really awful nightmares that kept me up all the time. It was always the same thing. The Island on fire, and I was trying to get away but I just couldn't. There was always some way of dying I kept falling into. I was always afraid that it would happen the next day so I could never focus right. There's that feeling, you know, that lets you know it's not just a dream. I wasn't just being afraid of fire. Everything was gone.

"There was always this figure I could never shake. This man in a black suit, just standing over the city, watching as it was destroyed. I don't know who he is; but the strangest thing was that instead of a human head, he had this grotesque pig's head. He had this horrible laugh that would ring in my ears long after I'd woken up. I have a feeling this guy's the cause of the destruction of the Island, but I can't find anything out about him.

"Recently, I've been dreaming about other people too…I saw you in a dream of mine. Whenever I tried to delve deeper into who you people were, I never ran into the fire again. So, analytically, I concluded that if I found all of you, I could stop the whole destruction apocalypse thing from happening."

Jack turns to him, looking skeptical. "So this is just what you speculate?"

"When you can see the future, you take these feelings very seriously," Simon insists, nodding feverishly. "I wouldn't have come to seek you out if I didn't think there was any merit behind my hunch." There is a silent _I probably wouldn't have slept with you either_ that he doesn't voice and Jack feels a little irritated at being reminded. All this strange information is making his head buzz.

Apparently, Simon can hear inside his head too. "Did you hear that?"

"What?"

"That buzzing." Simon scans their surroundings, slowing down slightly. They have made their way deep into the alleyway and Jack thinks they probably won't be able to get anywhere fast with all the trashcans and stray cats around them. But Simon continues looking around carefully. "We've got to go," he says, his pace suddenly quickening.

"Why?"

"Don't ask question, just come on!" His next step hits the ground running and Jack follows him, quickening to a gallop. He hears the buzzing again and it sounds somewhere above their heads. He looks up around them and sees a floating disc stalking them. "Don't look at them!" Simon shouts. "Just keep running!"

_Them_? As Jack blinks, he sees that there are several discs following the first one. Their metallic color flashes in the light coming from around them. There are little lights on them that flash periodically. Jack doesn't know what they are, but he has a feeling he shouldn't stick around to find out.

When they burst out the alleyway, they find themselves on a road alongside the river that cuts through the city. Simon turns sharply and runs down the road, barely stopping to apologize to the few people around for running into them. Jack quickly catches up to him and glances around his shoulders. The shapes are tight on their trail.

"I don't think we can just outrun them," Jack calls. "They look like trackers."

"What choice do we have?" Simon cries, breathless. As they pass an outdoor café, Jack seizes something off one of the empty tables and throws it behind him. The flying glass is dodged by one of the shapes, but the water that flies out splashes over one of its partners. The disc fizzes unhappily and wobbles in the air as if drunk.

"Water!" Jack yells, and grabs Simon's hand and veers them onto the road and down the slant and to the river. "They won't follow us here!"

"Ah, but-"

Jack pulls them both into the river just as one of the discs sends an electric shock at their heads. He feels Simon struggle next to him and he navigates them into the shadow of a nearby bridge before the thrashing next to him makes me resurface. "_What_?"

"I can't swim!" Simon gasps, clutching at him helplessly. "My mother wouldn't let me near the water since I was prone to faints!" The disks are searching overhead for them and Jack knows it won't be long until they find them hiding under the bridge. He looks around as Simon catches his breath, holding to him around his neck. Simon's eyelashes, dripping with river water, are close to his face but Jack sees a nearby pipe. Mapping out its course with his knowledge of the city, he knows it will empty out into a nearby branching off of the river. At the moment, it is mostly underwater. He figures it must be at least a minute or so of quick swimming to get by. The discs don't see them yet.

"Do you trust me?" he asks quietly. Simon's eyes flash and Jack sees uncertainty there, but the boy nods slowly. "Take a deep breath; we're going through that pipe." Simon looks and he frantically turns to Jack. "It won't be long, I promise. Take a deep breath, close your eyes, and hold onto me, okay?"

Simon's face is terrified but he nods again and takes a deep breath as Jack starts swimming toward the pipe. The movement alerts the discs and they aim a spark at them. The water makes Jack's skin tingle but he feels Simon holding onto him tightly and kicks into the pipe. The current makes them move quicker, but Jack feels Simon squirm next to him. It is dark, but a straightforward path; Jack shoots them both into the clear water again and surfaces, inhaling deeply. The discs have not followed them.

Simon is white and he is shivering in the water. Jack swims them both to the shore, where they sit at the river's edge. Simon runs his hand over his face and shakes the water from his hair.

"What have you gotten me into," Jack says flatly before Simon can say anything. The boy looks nervous for a second before laughing. Jack ignores him and shakes his hair out, feeling his wet clothes cling to his body uncomfortably. He is going to have to explain to his dorm mates why he smells like fish.

"Thank you," Simon says, squeezing water out of the loose parts of his clothing. "If it were just me, I'd…"

Someone running by distracts him and they both look up to the road. A frantic blonde boy spots them and calls out. "You've got to help me! Some thug just kidnapped my brother!"

[=]

The Lord of the Flies summons Roger to his office and lets the young man stand before his desk as he looks over the map of The Island. "How is our captive?"

"Submissive," Roger says, thinking of when he stopped kissing Eric, the boy flushed and pushed him away. "He is easy to manipulate, I think."

"I hope so. He must call out his twin and draw out that seer. Without the seer, those rebels won't know what to do and we can pick them out one by one." The Lord opens a cabinet and pulls out some manila folders and places them before Roger. "These individuals are our public enemies."

Roger opens the folders and looks over the faces. There is Eric's twin, a mischievous boy who shares his same face. There is another blonde, friendly and not very bright. One is rather fat with thick glasses. The oldest is a haughty-looking redhead and the youngest is an unthreatening teenager. He glances at the Lord.

"We must dispose of their seer," the Lord says, tapping his finger on the youngest boy. "Without Simon Green, they will not be able to predict our movements and will not be able to see us carry out their doom. They will try and stop us; Mr. Green has already started collecting his allies. Our seer says he has already sought out Jack Merridew," he explains, pushing the redhead's photo toward Jack. "Of course, by taking Eric, we will be forcing his twin to find someone to help him and they will undoubtedly cross paths. If we can get rid of Green before they make contact with Castilian or Stout, we have our plan in the bag."

Roger nods. "I suppose we cannot just take them?"

"Taking our twin already has us scrambling to tie up loose strings. If we took all six of them at the same time, we risk drawing attention to ourselves. We still do not have the power to take over The Island yet and I do not want us to try if the other specials try to overwhelm us."

Roger agrees. "So we must make Eric send out a message to his brother when the time comes so we can take out Green. Once we destroy their seer, they will have no one to turn to and will scatter." The Lord nods. "Make sure he knows his position."

Roger nods again. "Of course."

To be continued

[=]

Note: I said I wouldn't. I guess I lied, didn't I?


	3. More introductions and meetings

**Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the story idea and only some of the witty remarks. I own so little; so please don't steal.**

Background music: -

[=]

Ralph's shoes hit the pavement in steady, smarting steps. He hopes that taking a detour through the park at this late hour at night will discourage anyone from following him. The thing he needs least at the moment is any curious idiot trying to examine him more closely. He does not plan on letting his parents find out and he thinks he disappeared from the scene fast enough not to have anyone really take a good look at him.

About ten minutes ago, he was hit by a car.

About ten minutes ago, Ralph Castilian felt his ribs break as he stepped out to cross the street, the crossing sign flashing green, and a car rounded the corner, reckless as life, and smashed right into his side. He tasted blood in his mouth as he had the momentum of what he was going through flash in his mind; _I'm getting hit by a car_. The car stops immediately, thankfully, and he flies forward from the force, scraping his elbow and getting rattled as his body hits the road.

Everyone who sees, which is everyone who is walking around at the time, rushes over to him. The driver gets out of the car, worried for the sake of a lawsuit, and crowds around him. Frantically, Ralph tries to assure them he is fine as he feels his ribcage repair itself. Swallowing the blood back down, he gets up and says that he is fine, the car just brushed him, it wasn't as bad as it seemed. Since he can walk around and has his bearings, they float away, marveling at the miracle. But Ralph is unnerved; here, now, everyone can see if they look closely, that everything has healed itself. He believes in all sorts of strange things, but he knows it is not natural for a body to construct itself back together.

He glances over his shoulder and quickens his pace when he notices that someone is following him. He did not think anyone had been too interested in him (the driver rushed off at once) but when he continues home, he had seen that someone was constantly tailing him. In the park, he realizes stupidly that it was a bad idea; if something happens, no one will know. What if this person is from the government? What if they noticed he was not all he seemed? Fantastical situations whiz through his head.

"—ait, wait, I can't run too fast…"

Although Ralph is not ashamed about his talent or whatever it is he has, he has not planned on having the whole world find out. If there's something he's learned from reading comic books, it's that superheroes cannot let the entire planet know of their skills and identity. And anyway, he's watched enough movies to know people like him can get kidnapped, used, or dissected. He must keep his powers a secret!

"Really now…! I don't mean to hurt…to hurt you! Stop walking so fast…!"

The voice does not sound malicious; in fact, it's really out of breath. Ralph turns around despite himself; a fat boy around his age is struggling to catch up with him. At the very least, Ralph assures himself, if anything happens, he can knock the kid down and run away. He slows to a stop and waits for the boy to jog up to him.

"Goodness!" The boy bends over and takes several deep breaths as Ralph watches amusedly. When he straightens, he gives Ralph a dirty look. "With the way you were walking, you would think I was going to eat you or something!"

"You look like you could," Ralph says, before realizing he shouldn't have said that. The boy looks affronted but undeterred.

"You were just hit by a car," the boy says, clearly, despite his previous breathlessness. "And you're completely fine. I saw what you did there. You were hit square on."

Ralph starts to walk away fast.

"H-hey! Don't go so fast! I can't run…on account of my asthma…"

"Sucks to your ass-mar," Ralph scoffs, jumping on the defensive and seizing the opportunity to divert attention from him with the boy's panting words. After a moment, he feels a little bad and slows down again. The boy looks seriously inconvenienced and offended, but he carries on.

"You healed yourself, didn't you?"

Ralph feels a fresh wave of panic. "No, it wasn't that bad."

"I saw it. I was right there. You were hit and you healed yourself." The boy stares at him through thick glasses. "I am not an idiot. I know with that kind of impact, you probably broke a few bones. But you're fine. Leading me to believe that you have some sort of…power?"

"Of course not!" Ralph cries hysterically. "That's ridiculous. It was dark. You probably didn't see right."

"Denial usually hides the truth."

"You're crazy!"

The boy stops, and Ralph takes a step forward before turning to him. Before his eyes, the boy suddenly shrinks within himself and lengthens; as Ralph's eyes widen, the boy who has followed him suddenly stretches and morphs into a skinny, basketball-height teenager with the same thick glasses. With an almost deflating sound, he shrinks back to the fat stature of before. "Maybe I am. But I'm going to go out on a limb and say we've got something in common."

"Wow!" Ralph feels all traces of fright and apprehension flow away. "So…so you…could touch that tree if you wanted to?" He points to a tree a few paces away. The boy rolls his eyes and extends his arm enough to wrap around the trunk twice before snapping it back. "Wicked!"

"What's your name?"

Ralph beams. "I'm Ralph Castilian. I've got the power to heal myself!" The boy waits but when Ralph doesn't respond, he looks a little more offended.

"I'm Pygmalion Stout," he says. "And I can stretch my body like no one's business."

Ralph nods excitedly. "But I don't get it," he says slowly. "Why do you stay like that when you could be really tall and skinny?" He gestures at Pygmalion's stomach. "Seriously…you're not making things easier on yourself…" As if leaping on an ingenious idea, he raises a finger in the air. "You probably have nicknames like 'Piggy' or something! Oh! And it fits with your name too!"

Pygmalion, who had looked extremely displeased at Ralph's character, looks even more disgusted. "For your information," he says icily, as Ralph realizes yet again he has spoken out of turn, "I am trying not to draw attention to myself. I do not think it is smart to have everyone find out what I can do. I don't jump in front of cars."

Ralph sulks. "Fair enough," he grouches. "But I didn't _jump_ in front of it…"

"Whatever it is that lets us do what we do, it's not common. Therefore, I think we should be allies." Pygmalion extends his hand in a handshake. "Whatever happens, we have to make sure we don't let the general public know about this."

Ralph is a personable boy. He takes Pygmalion's hand. "Okay," he concedes. "But only if I can call you Piggy. You brought it upon yourself."

[=]

Sam fidgets across from them in the booth seat. Jack orders them all drinks and when they come, he stirs the straw around the soda until he bursts out, "Whoever took Eric, they sent something to the house."

The dark haired boy, Simon, does not look surprised. "What did it say?" he asks, instead of inquiring what it is.

"The letter," Sam babbles, "was written by some obscure company. It had a letterhead and logo and stuff. It said that while it appeared that Eric had been seized against his will, he was taken by this government corporation that was studying the habits of growing adolescents or some crap like that. It gave all sorts of credentials and said it was all top secret so they couldn't have contacted the family sooner. I thought that was major sketchy but my parents seemed convinced it was okay. They're firm believers of The Island, you know. I'm sure if they needed us drafted to fight for it, they'd make us enlist."

Jack nods and Sam drives on. "I tried to explain the situation but my parents were completely sold by that bogus whoever had written. They were instructed to destroy the letter so I couldn't get my hands on it. I tried to search the company name on the Internet but I never came up with any real evidence about it. I kept getting sent around in circles. Top secret or not, I don't buy any of it."

Simon glances at Jack and nudges him. Jack clears his throat. "You wouldn't happen to have any part of that letter, or the envelope it came in?" he asks.

"Actually, I do!" Sam grabs the bag he brought with him and fishes through it to find a miniscule scrap. "Funny you should ask. The way they had to burn it afterwards, I was a little suspicious about, so when I saw this tiny part of the envelope, I picked it up before they could see." He slides the tiny sliver across the table. "I mean…I don't know what you could do with it…" He ogles Jack. "Can you…maybe create a duplicate of it or something?"

The situation is this: a couple days ago (three, to be exact), Sam had witnessed the kidnapping of his brother by a mysterious dark figure. After recovering from a physical shock from an unknown source, he tried to seek help, but discovered he had no way to contact his family. He tried to flag someone down and saw Jack and Simon by the riverside. Explaining his situation, although knowing they probably could do nothing, he was surprised when Simon studied him carefully and introduced himself. Per Simon's instructions, he went home and saw his parents reading some mail they had received. A day later, he contacted Simon and scheduled a time to meet.

They all, of course, had established that they were not ordinary people.

"No…" Jack says, staring at the envelope piece. "But I _can_ tell you what happened before your parents got the letter." He extends a finger and presses the shred against the table.

Fast, flashing images pulse through his head. A shadowy figure from the shoulders down; an unknown individual writing the letter; close up of the address on the envelope, to the Riordan household; the same unknown individual, staring intently at the letter, at the envelope, irises turning violet –

Jack is brought back to the restaurant by Simon's soft grip on his shoulder. "They were influenced," he says slowly, as Sam gapes at him. "Whoever wrote this letter had intended the readers to be brainwashed. I assume since you were not given the letter, you did not feel its effects."

"Bastards," Sam curses lowly, the direness of the situation finally settling on his shoulders. Simon had vaguely explained some end-of-the-world scenario, but really, the biggest issue on Sam's mind is not the destruction of The Island – Eric is his twin brother, and to be separated involuntarily is not sitting well with him. Whoever had taken Eric may as well cut off his arm and run off with it as well. Deep in thought, he looks up and realizes both Simon and Jack are watching him. They are sitting quite close.

"Are you two…" Sam raises an eyebrow. He has been wondering this for a bit. "…maybe…involved together? Mucking around in the river together…"

The reaction this causes is actually pretty hilarious. The two flush like just-caught troublemakers and scoot apart. Simon glances at Jack again (see, telltale, Sam figures, as no one should be giving others meaning-laid looks like that without having _something_ going on); Jack blinks rapidly.

"No, that…we…no!" Simon shakes his head too. Sam would love to get down to the real point of this problem, but there are bigger fish to fry.

"I'm getting my brother back," Sam says resolutely. "And since you guys seem to know what you're doing, I want you two to help me."

"That was a good way of asking us," Jack scoffs. "It just so happens that your goals coincide with ours."

"I think," Simon says, "if my vision is right…that whoever kidnapped your brother is involved with the same person who wants to destroy The Island. If preventing this from happening means we save your brother too, I think we can join forces." All this talk is reminding Sam of the good role play video games he and Eric used to play. He can't end high school without at least playing them again with him.

"In your visions," Sam starts, wanting and not wanting to know at the same time, "does anything ever happen to my brother?"

Simon looks apologetic. "I didn't see that far yet…but hopefully, I might see something in the future. He seems alright so far…"

"I've tried to mentally connect with him," Sam muses aloud, "but I've never been able to get through. We've never really been apart, so we never had to communicate long distance. I don't know if I know how to. But I'm also sensing this weird disruption. I can't really place a finger on it."

"Does your ability only cover you and your brother?" Jack asks, before clarifying. "I mean, can you read or speak to other people's minds, or is it just your brother's?"

Sam's face is scandalized. "I've never tried it before," he admits. "I didn't think I could. We've always been able to do it…I didn't think it was too big a deal until you mentioned it." He nods at Simon. "I thought it was completely normal. Twin intuition, you know."

Jack scoffs again and Sam glares at him. They arrange another time to meet and exchange important phone numbers. As they leave the diner, Sam studies the two; it _is_ rather unusual they are together, if they are together. They are so different. As he stares at Simon, as if a door is opened, he suddenly hears the boy as if he is speaking, although his mouth isn't moving. _Stupid Jack; sleeping together isn't _nothing_, you prat._

Sam blinks and smirks to himself. He will have to ask Jack about this later.

To be continued

[=]

Note: Let me clarify from last time; I didn't mean to continue this story at all. Seriously, I was cool with just letting it stay as a oneshot. But of course, I was pretty invested in writing more, so…and I don't hear any complaints, so I'm going to guess this is okay with you all. I feel like Ralph would be mean. I'm not actually sure why Jack goes around with Simon. Hmm. I've just gotten on break so I'll have some time to keep writing. Thanks for reading, all!


	4. Jack tries to avoid his fate

**Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the story idea and only some of the witty remarks. I own so little; so please don't steal.**

Background music: -

[=]

"I had a vision last night," Simon says, staring at the pavement below their feet. "I saw a little room and Sam's brother. There was someone else too; someone dark. I think that was the kidnapper." He does a double step to keep up with Jack. "We can't storm the base and save Eric, like what Sam wants. I'm not sure what they want with Eric, but whatever it is, they're not going to hurt him."

"Why are you following me?"

Jack has been wondering this ever since he left the bookshop and found Simon waiting for him on the pavement, school bag on one shoulder. He is about to ask how the boy knew he was there, but considered it a stupid question with the whole psychic thing and all. He had said hi and turned and tried to walk away but Simon has not stopped walking with him since. Simon looks at him incredulously.

"But Jack, I thought…"

"I went with you to meet with that twin because you included me on the plans. I have had no intention of keeping in contact with you ever since that…that night. Saving the world and everything sounds great, but I just do not have the time to be running around with you. Okay?"

"You don't believe me, is that it? I thought those flying disks were proof enough!"

"They only proved that hanging around with you is dangerous! I don't know what The Island has to do with you, but you can count me out. I've been thinking and this whole idea that there's someone out to get us is completely crazy! Why would they go and confound Sam's parents if they didn't have a reason to!" He narrows his eyes as he turns to Simon. "Maybe it's _you_ who's the problem."

"Me?" Simon looks frantic. "I've told you what I've seen!"

"And I don't see anything happening, do I?" Jack waves his arms around, at the stores and the street around them. Cars speed by and people begin to head home. The sky is blue and the towers are tall and sturdy. To Jack, Simon's claims sound about as realistic as screaming 'fire' in a swimming pool. While he admits he was taken by the first claims, when he begins to use reason and logic, the whole scheme seems preposterous.

Simon gives him a scathing hurt look. "We slept together…" he begins in a low voice.

"Which was _your_ fault!" Jack shouts, turning on him. They are making a scene, screaming along a college town strip. Jack is slightly aware he looks like a bully picking on a boy in a prep school uniform, but one has to be firm with children. They won't listen otherwise. "_You _initiated it, and I'm not sure what got into your head that suddenly that was enough to tie us together!" He scoffs loudly. "Don't tell me you've fallen in love with me."

Simon makes a strangled sound, like a goose being choked. "Is _that_ what you think!" He actually stops for a full second, rooted onto the pavement. When he starts again, he looks murderous enough for Jack to be a bit frightened. "I'm sorry to burst your ego, Jack Merridew, but you are _not_ a catch."

"Oh, is that what you were thinking when you decided to come on to me?"

Jack swings around a rather large boy to avoid running into him, but finds himself meeting the pavement in greeting. Pushing himself up in a fury, he looks out to see what on earth he has tripped on, and finds nothing but gray sidewalk. The boy's shoes are too far away for him to have fallen on; surely Jack would have bumped into that large stomach of his first. Confused, he brings his wrath on the unsuspecting fat boy. "Watch where you're standing, fatso!"

The boy adjusts his glasses. "Maybe you should focus on walking instead of shouting at someone younger than you."

Jack turns to Simon to see if the boy has had anything to do with it; but the way Simon shies back suggests he does not know the fat boy. Standing with a huff, Jack grabs Simon's arm and leans into the fat boy's face. "Maybe _you_ should mind your own fucking business," he snarls, pulling Simon along. The fat boy makes a face at him that is unnoticed as Jack storms off.

Piggy wonders if it was wise to extend his foot just a teensy bit at that moment, but it was really worth it. He doesn't know what sort of argument the two boys were having, but it did not look fair for the ginger to be bearing down on that other boy. He turns as Ralph comes out of the drugstore he is standing out of, a packet of gum in one hand and a soda in the other. "I heard yelling. What happened?"

"Nothing."

[=]

Eric stares up at the smooth, blank ceiling above his bed. He has so far counted seven nights since he has been kidnapped. He wonders if his parents are frantic and imagines them crying dramatically at his disappearance. A part of him is amused by this. Although logic has since overridden those thoughts; if whoever had kidnapped him didn't want to be discovered, wouldn't it have been more beneficial to take Sam as well? Sam was a witness, wasn't he?

The fact that he has not been tortured or killed yet assures him he is not under the care of a crazed serial killer. They are probably holding him for ransom or something. But for what, he wonders. His family is an ordinary middle class family without a fortune under their name; his mother stays at home and his father has a desk job. He is completely normal – save for his powers, of course.

Roger had said something about using his powers to lure out Sam and the company he kept. Something about destroying someone before they destroyed The Island. Was there really someone who had the power to crush the massive, powerful Island? Eric entertains thoughts of a buff hulk who can split streets with a pound of a fist. _Supervillians really do exist_, he thinks, a bit excitedly.

But, of course, if they were trying to save The Island, why did they kidnap him in such a sketchy way? Why did they have to use under-the-table methods of drawing out someone using his brother? And in the event of destroying this so-called destroyer, if Sam was involved, wouldn't there be a chance his twin might get hurt too?

No, Eric concluded, what he was wrapped up in was not all it seemed.

The lock to his room clicks and he raises his head off the pillow to see Roger come in. "You're awake," the dark young man states lowly. "The Lord of the Flies would like to see you," he says before Eric can say anything. He stands at the door and waits. Eric gets to his feet and studies Roger. He has only heard about this so called Lord of the Flies in passing and he knows enough that he is his captor. Perhaps he might know the man? As they step into the hallway, Roger grabs his arm, as if he thinks Eric might run away.

They make their way down the long corridor and into a sleek, silver elevator. Eric notes almost comedically that there is soft elevator music. It brings a slight grin to his lips, even though the numbers lighting up increase as they climb the building. He gulps as they reach their stop – the top floor – and Roger jostles him out.

"You don't have to be so rough," Eric gripes, trying feebly to shake himself free of Roger's grip. "I'm not going to run away."

Roger looks almost apologetic for a second but says nothing as he continues marching Eric to the large, oak doors on the other side of the hall. Eric doesn't know what or who he is heading toward, but the carpet under his feet is grainy and he's feeling an unnatural chill. A strange smell enters his nose; a twist of a petting zoo and something rotting. "What is that?" Eric asks, his voice faltering.

Roger doesn't answer.

They reach the door and Roger knocks once. A voice from inside the room says, "Come in," and Roger opens the door. The room is slightly dark because the only light is coming from the window behind the large desk. The room itself is mostly bare; a couch sits on both sides of the room, facing each other like opposing teams. Where there might have been pictures of previous corporate presidents, the walls are green and dull. Flanking the window on either side of the walls are two tall bookshelves with books that don't appear to ever have been read. The chair is turned toward the window, with its back toward them.

"Here is the twin, my Lord," Roger says flatly, pushing Eric forward. He stands behind him, blocking his exit.

"Excellent." The disembodied voice frightens Eric. It sounds a little high pitched, like a struggling animal. "I suppose you're wondering why I called you here. I am called the Lord of the Flies; and we are quite similar."

"Yeah?" Eric says, squirming.

"You can help us, Eric Whiting. We believe your brother has been in contact with an undesirable of The Island. He has interacted with someone named Simon Green. In the interest of preserving our existence, we must take him into our custody."

"What did he do?"

"That is not important," the Lord of the Flies dismisses. "All you must do is send a message to your brother to bring Simon Green to us and we will let you free."

"Ah…" Eric licks his lips nervously. "I've tried to talk to him, but I haven't been able to…"

"Oh, my apologies, Mr. Whiting. This building you are in is surrounded with a force field erected by one of my very talented specials; interference stops anything that can get in or get out. Roger will direct you to a room free of such interference. My apologies again; I should explain. Here in his building, you are in the presence of many such people like yourself – specials, who have extraordinary powers. You can communicate with your brother telepathically and have the ability to read other's minds at an extent. Roger, your guard, has probably already demonstrated his powers to you. I, on the other hand, have a special case." The chair swivels abruptly and Eric gasps.

There is a man in the chair – a man with a pig's head. Eric stumbles back and feels Roger's hand on his back, but he feels no pain. This is much stranger than any abstract painting he has every laid eyes on. "Grotesque, isn't it," the Lord murmurs, tapping his fingers together. Flies swirl around the head, with droopy ears and dark, empty eyes. "My powers have backfired on me to give me this hideous appearance. But no matter. I bring you no harm."

"Oh," Eric manages to get out, but that is all. The Lord of the Flies seems not to notice.

"Now, please contact your brother," the Lord says. "We must get Simon Green off the streets as soon as possible."

[=]

Jack wonders if the students streaming out the gates next to him think he is a stalker. He might look like one, maybe. It isn't if he's wearing sunglasses or all black. But he is older than even the oldest, tallest boy coming out from the school. He is standing around and looking very nonchalant. Girls in skirts shorter than dress code allows give him glances and shy smiles. He pretends not to see.

He checks his watch again. School should be out. Boys have sauntered by for their cars, carting around giggly girlfriends. Girls have been picked up by mothers. Children have run out with their art projects. Jack almost reminisces about middle school again. Almost.

The Catholic school building is brick; solid like the religion it houses. Windows litter the walls and if Jack peeks around the wall around the school, he sees green fields and trees. The prep school of rich kids, he thinks. Strange; he never saw Simon in a place like this at all.

Finally he sees the doors open and Simon comes out. While Simon does not radiate the sort of atmosphere a popular boy with lots of friends would, Jack is slightly surprised to see a small band of boys with him. Simon is not the joker of the group; a sandy-haired youth is leading the conversation, picking on another friend. There is a tall, lanky blonde who looks rather disinterested. Simon is smiling at something the sandy idiot is shouting.

They hit the gates at the same time and Simon turns to see Jack, standing there stupidly. "Oh," he says, and his friends turn to look at him too. Simon has not gone to see him since the day Jack told him off, and Jack found this unusual except, of course, Simon could see the future and probably saw him coming anyway.

"Simon," Jack begins, only to have the sandy-haired boy cut him off.

"Do you know this guy, Simon?" Sandy asks, trying to pull himself up to look like a punk. Jack scowls at him. He doesn't know the kid's name, but he's already pretty annoying. "You look too old to be hanging around this kind of school, pops."

_Pops?_ Jack resists an urge to pop the kid in a completely other way. Simon quickly mediates, assuring his ragtag group of friends that he'll handle this quickly and they can go home together. Sandy glares at Jack and pulls along Sidekick (Jack nicknames the shrimpy boy this as Sandy is always dragging him along) and they meander their way to a rather battered looking car in the parking lot. The lanky blonde (Jack names him Beanpole) stays behind.

"I'll be alright, Charlie," Simon says, glancing at Beanpole (fine, Charlie). "It'll only take a moment."

Charlie slinks off, but only after shooting them furtive glances. There's something about this Charlie that Jack doesn't really like. Simon is well able to take care of himself. What does Beanpole – Charlie – think he is, his savior or something? "If it's not going to be an apology, I don't want to hear it."

Jack blinks. Apology? "That's really hypocritical of you, Jack," Simon continues, claws unleashed and no longer the meek boy he was in front of his friends. "Telling me to stop following you, and yet here you are looking for me. I bet _you've_ fallen in love with _me_."

"Rather Sandy than you," Jack mutters.

"Who?"

"Never mind. I'm not here to apologize. I didn't do anything wrong." Jack is going to go into what he actually is here for but Simon turns away, disinterested.

"Hit the road, Jack. Since you don't care, I don't need to hear it."

"Sam called me. He told me Eric got through to him." Simon stops, and Jack thinks he should get back on the sidewalk or he'll get run over by cars in the parking lot. "He said he tried to call you but you weren't home yet. Eric wants to set up a meeting – the guy who's kidnapped him, with us." Simon turns slightly toward him and Jack continues, slightly hesitating at the remainder of the message. "The kidnapper wants to offer a trade – he'll give Eric back if we give him you."

To be continued

[=]

Note: I was planning on updating much sooner…but this chapter gave me problems. I can always write when I'm on a deadline…but it appears school has come upon us again! Hmm. Thanks for reading!


	5. A Plan is Foiled

**Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the story idea and only some of the witty remarks. I own so little; so please don't steal.**

Background music: -

[=]

The meeting place is the backdoor of a tall skyscraper in the heart of The Island, where trucks dock and deliver their supplies. The dock faces a damp, narrow back street that cars rarely drive down. Rubbish bins are rusting and move with the activity of rats. It hasn't rained in a couple days, but there are puddles and an odd discolored liquid drips from somewhere above their heads. The air is slightly chilly and heavy. Sam leads the way, having received instructions of the spot from Eric from the transmition.

"This feels like a trap," Simon murmurs, walking behind him besides Jack.

"Did you see anything?" Jack asks.

"No. I never saw any future that involved me in a place like this." Simon glances at the frantic scurrying of a black rat alongside the damp brick of the building next to them. "I wonder what they want with me. To have kidnapped Eric to get to me…"

"Are you sure we shouldn't have contacted the authorities?" Jack asks, louder so Sam can hear them. "It doesn't seem right."

"If whoever kidnapped Eric could brainwash my parents into thinking their son was in a safer place, I don't think calling the cops would have any effect."

"It doesn't seem smart anymore," Simon muses, thinking of their plan. "When they hand Eric over, to attack them and run. They won't be kids; what if they have guns?"

"There's no other way," Sam declares. "I'm not going to let them keep my brother and we're not going to hand you over either. No one would believe us enough to help us, and anyway, Eric said he would meet us with only one other person, so I'm sure we can overpower him and escape if it's necessary." They come up to the back of a tall, pitch-black building – the windows are tinted dark and it towers over their heads, stretching into the blue sky. The shadow it casts into the alley bathes them in shade. "We're here," Sam announces, although the suggestion of second thought has crept into his voice.

The docking station, a dark cave stretching into the base of the building with a sloping floor, appears to be uninhabited at first, but a faint movement near one of the doors reveals a dark shape. It is the lanky body of a mysterious individual, but behind him, is…

"Eric!" Sam shouts, taking a step forward. He tries to bombard his twin's mind with numerous questions that he doesn't want to voice aloud, but he finds the annoying interference again. Something about the building makes it hard for him to convey anything. Eric stares at him, terrified. The boy in front of him jumps onto the platform, holding his hand out to Eric.

"Come closer," the dark boy orders, and Sam hesitates, turning behind him to Jack and Simon. Simon nods and they advance slowly. They are unaware of the security camera watching their movements in a darker corner of the station, trained upon the five youths. Roger perks his ears but the bud in his ear does not bark orders; all is going according to the Lord's plans. He pulls Eric along, feeling the boy squirm behind him.

[=]

"At last," the Lord whispers, hardly hiding his pleasure. The screen before him is showing all he has hoped for these past few months; he is about to get his hands on Simon Green, and have him to be disposed of. After that is done, no one will stand in his way of destroying The Island and to find someone who can reverse the effect of his powers. The young man next to him stares deeply at the screen; his own fortune teller, Maurice. It has been a while since the boy went through live grinning idiotically with no purpose in life. The Lord has justified his existence.

"Wait," Maurice says, looking a little confused.

The Lord of the Flies turns to him in anger. "What?" he asks in a tense voice. When Maurice does not reply immediately, he hits him across the head, sending him sprawling to the ground with a cry of surprise. "What did you see?"

Trembling, Maurice pulls himself up again to the desk and studies the screen. It was only a flash, but enough…the two teams seem to be discussing something. The Lord looks about to strike him again, so he hurriedly speaks. "We need to stop this meeting."

"What?" The Lord sounds even more incensed. "Why on earth would we do that?"

The flash was fast; the split shot of the boy named Ralph standing in front of Simon. "If this continues, they'll meet Ralph Castilian and Pygmalion Stout." As the Lord stares at him, he tries to explain. "The meeting right now will lead to Simon and the others meeting Ralph."

"That is impossible!" the Lord thunders, but his mind races. Perhaps, by chance, the boy will wander onto the street? "We must capture Simon Green at all costs _right now_." He presses the button alerting his few snipers. They will take out Simon before they can make contact with Ralph. He must ensure this; he can feel victory in his hands, and he cannot let it slip out at such an easy opportunity.

[=]

_Capture the boy_, the Lord orders in Roger's ear, and he stops the pleasantries being exchanged. "We must have the trade now," he says, and Sam cuts off all the questions he has been asking without answers. Eric cringes, and glances around, his eyes landing on the flashing lights on the door. He isn't sure what they mean, but he has overheard the plan discussed by the Lord.

"What's the rush?" Jack asks, and Eric knows he is buying time. "You didn't answer our questions. Why do you need Simon?"

"The deal did not involve a question and answer session," Roger says coolly. He recognizes the redhead and Simon from the files. He has introduced himself with a curt statement of his name. He does not feel the need to use his power – the Lord told him not to unless absolutely necessary in order not to cause panic to make them scatter – but if they will not obey, he will have to unleash himself. And with the urgency the Lord has ordered him, and the lights, he is sending backup. He can take care of this himself, Roger thinks angrily to himself. He does not need help.

"It's okay," Simon murmurs, walking forward. Sam turns to him, uncertainty in his eyes. "I'll come." He walks calmly past Sam toward Roger, and just as Roger starts to push Eric forward, the doors open to reveal several people decked in pure black, with silencers attached to their guns.

"Run!" Eric screams, ignoring all constraint. "They mean to kill you, Simon! Run away!"

_Shoot to kill, all of them!_ the Lord screams into all the earbuds, and as the men aim their guns, Simon's eyes widen and he turns. "It's okay, leave me!" Eric yells, as Sam shoots him a panicked look. "Just _go_!"

"Be quiet!" Roger hisses, and Eric cries out as he feels his head flare again. Jack and Simon are already at street level and running as Sam starts to feel his legs carry him away as the bullets whiz past his head. He turns back for a second to see Eric at Roger's feet.

"I'll be back to get you, Eric!" Sam calls, before ducking from a shot and running off. When he gets to the street, he sees the men in black following them and sees Jack and Simon off near another side street. They must split up, Jack had said before, if anything happened. He runs in the opposite direction, briefly seeing out of the corner of his eyes black members coming out the side doors of the black building. Once he gets out to the public street, they cannot kill him without drawing attention to themselves. He can disappear into the crowds.

"I knew it!" Jack grumbles, to himself. It was too suspicious to meet in a back alley. They were just being set to be shot to their deaths. Whatever he is getting wrapped up in, there is no turning back. Sam specified that he was also to be included in the 'company he kept'. Whatever it was, he was involved, whether he liked it or not. _I should have never gone to that damn party_.

"Jack!" Simon yells behind him, and he turns. Just as he does, he sees a man in black come out of a door they have run past, a couple yards behind Simon, gun carefully aimed. Simon sees him just as he does, and he falters. There is no stopping this. Jack does not have the time to pull Simon out the way. The man squeezes the trigger.

Out of a perpendicular alleyway, a blur comes out of nowhere and stands in front of Simon, shielding him. The bullet hits him square in the chest. In shock, the man shoots again and again, the shots lodging themselves firmly into the shield's stomach.

"Jesus!" the blonde young man shouts, wincing. "It doesn't feel like a paintball gun at all!" The man in black growls and is about to shoot again when a flesh-colored tendril comes out of the alleyway the blonde ran out of and knocks the gun from the man's hand. As the man turns, two hands attached to long, stretchy arms grab both sides of his head and smash it against the door, knocking him out.

"Are you alright?" the body the long arms belong to asks. The arms retract back to a plump body and the fat boy totters over to the injured blonde. Simon runs over to him too, and Jack follows skeptically as well. "Where did he get you?"

"In the heart!" the blonde boy cheers, reaching into the bloodied stain in his shirt. There is a wet _pop_ and the bullet comes back out, falling into his hand. There are two more _pop_s and two more bloody bullets fall onto the ground. "Whew!" The blonde wipes his forehead, smearing red onto his face. "That was a close one! One second later and you could have been hit!" He turns to Simon and grins.

Simon's eyes widen. "You," he says, breathless. "I saw you in a dream."

"Did you? I'm flattered."

"How are you not hurt?" Jack asks, cutting in. He remembers the fat boy. The fat boy seems to remember him. They glare at each other for a moment. "He shot you where you should have died."

"I'm invincible," the blonde shrugs. "Cool, isn't it?"

"Come with us," Simon says, grabbing his hand. The boy looks down at their conjoined hands and turns to the fat boy. Jack feels a stab of dislike. Dream or no dream, what is it about this boy that makes Simon take to him so quickly? Simon has never been this…not-snarky to him before. In fact, as Simon passes him and his frown, he gives Jack a _behave yourself_ look before pulling the blonde and his fat chum with him.

Jack shakes his head. What did he get himself into?

[=]

The blue of an electric shock glows in the Lord's office. The Lord keeps a couple of grunts to keep the specials in check. He has to use very special materials to handle Roger Doloris. A grunt keeps a taser in use so whenever Roger is looking rather murderously at the Lord, he uses it. Eric stands shaking at the door.

"I told you to make it a fast transaction," the Lord says in a low, even voice, the voice of wrath. "Make the exchange quick. But you did not do that. You prolonged it enough to make them suspicious. Now they've gotten away and you've ruined the fundamental point of my plans." Roger looks up and the grunt shocks him again. "Simon Green has met up with Ralph Castilian and I have told you again and again that that is a dangerous event. They will be able to withstand many of our physical attacks and you know as well as I do that you are the only one capable of attacking them from the inside. You cannot handle them all at once. I expected Green to be over with by the end of the day. You could not deliver me that." He nods at the grunt and the grunt tases Roger again, for punishment's sake.

The shocks come, one after another even after the Lord has turned away in disappointment. The grunt does not relent, even after Roger is writhing on the floor. "Stop it!" Eric shrills, rushing forward as the grunt looks to him in surprise. "You've done it enough already!" Now Eric does not care especially much for Roger, but such inhumane treatment is wrong.

"You did not even use your own powers even when they were _right in front of you_," the Lord sighs, and waves a hand. The grunt pauses, as Eric is clutching at Roger, but tases them both anyway. The Lord does not turn at Eric's squeal.

The current passes through them both, but Eric does not let go. Roger, through the blinking lights in his vision, feels irritation toward Eric's stubbornness. He would have doled out some pain to make the boy let go, but at this point, he can't even muster even an itch. Soundlessly, he shoves Eric off and gives him a cold look to stay away.

"I think that will be sufficient," the Lord says a moment later. "Take them back to their room."

Roger manages to walk back to the room but stumbles onto the bed the moment the door closes and locks behind them. Eric takes a shuddering breath – he can feel the unpleasant crackles that passed his skin – and makes his way carefully to Roger. "Are you alright?" Eric ventures, slowly, as if dealing with an unpredictable animal, which in a way, he is. Roger's back is toward him so he cannot read any expression. Eric purses his lips. Roger wants to be alone; understandable – he would want to be let alone too after something like that.

"You shouldn't have done that," Roger says lowly when Eric sits down on the ground next to the bed. There are a lot of things that could be applicable, but Eric knows he means coming up to him when he was dealing with the grunt. Roger is conflicted – puzzled with why Eric would do something as mindless as that. The Lord would not have killed him, he has his purpose; yet Eric tried to stop it. He does not know why. He has done nothing that Eric owes him any favors.

"It's wrong," Eric mumbles, hugging his knees. Today was a long, exhausting day. "Corporal punishment is wrong."

"You were going to get hurt."

"So?" Eric whispers. "Nothing I can't handle." His bravado is still there; Sam is fine, and he helped save someone's life whom he doesn't know. That Simon boy – he didn't seem like he was going to kill anyone. He knows he shouldn't judge by appearances, but that Lord of the Flies is a bad guy; Eric knows this, he knows this from very deep down. He was kidnapped by a crazy guy with a pig's head. The crazy guy wants to kill people. He wants to go home. Eric is not a crier, but he feels his eyes getting wet and he buries his head into his arms before anyone can see.

[=]

"Why are you so prickly?"

Jack turns. He thought his withdrawal outside had gone unnoticed; he had snuck out when Ralph was making his loud introduction. He hadn't caught the fat boy's name, but he thinks the nickname Piggy will be sufficient. Ralph walks up to him, standing in the middle of the backyard of Simon's house, and cocks his head challengingly.

"Nothing's wrong," Jack sniffs, turning his attention back to the reddening leaves above his head. The crisp post summer air is giving way to autumn before he can notice. Ralph studies him wordlessly.

"Is there something between you and Simon?" Ralph asks. "You two were running around together when I found you guys…"

"What were you two doing lurking around that area anyway?"

"Oh, you know. Finding cool things. I was trying to find some short cuts around The Island…I haven't explored it all yet. Someday, I hope to make a map for all the youngsters out there, with every route planned and stuff." Ralph nods, looking like a little kid instead of the high school senior he is. "Stop trying to distract me. Whenever you two look at each other, there's some sort of hate going on. But I don't think you two hate each other."

"Think whatever you want," Jack says. Ralph scrutinizes him some more.

"I don't know what it is," Ralph says slowly. "But it's something more. Because Simon was watching you as you left and you got pissy when I showed up and ruined your two-man show. Is that right?"

"I don't know what you're on about."

Ralph's face is blank. Then a sudden dark smile crosses his face that unhinges Jack. "If that's the case, then I guess it's safe to say it then; I won't need to ask your permission to court Simon." He watches as Jack sputters and turns red.

"My permission?"

"Oh yes. He's a cute little thing, isn't he?" Ralph turns slightly back to the house. "And you just don't take him seriously even though he can see the future. He's better off with someone who can appreciate him for who he is, wouldn't you think?" He gives Jack a pointed look. "If we're going to save The Island, he's going to need to lean on someone more solid than certain people we know. And I think he's taking a liking to me already." With that, Ralph turns on his heel and marches back to the house.

Jack scowls at him. Ralph doesn't walk like a poof, nor does he have an obnoxious loud voice. It's obnoxious, but not like that. He doesn't know what Ralph was trying to insinuate, but he doesn't care. Simon can date whomever he wanted to date. And dating should be the last thing on his mind if people were trying to kill them. All of them were just silly-headed children. Someone was going to have to take charge here.

To be continued

[=]

Note: Fast update to make up for the lack of updates during my winter holiday. And I hope not to make so much stupid lovey romantic nonsense crowd up the rest of the story. I want it to be like the Max Ride series where you gotta work _hard_ to get to the romance. But I like writing slash. So hum. Thanks for reading.


	6. Return of the Disks

**Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the story idea and only some of the witty remarks. I own so little; so please don't steal.**

Background music: -

[=]

"Do you think it's real, Piggy?"

Piggy glances at Ralph from the driver's seat. They are heading out to the lakefront along the outskirts of The Island to discuss things. In his opinion, he and Ralph are completely different entities in the whole 'saving-The-Island' team; Jack, Simon, and Sam seem to revolve around different agendas and mindsets but he and Ralph are completely new to all this. They haven't been directly affected by anything yet. He shrugs noncommittally as he keeps his hands on the steering wheel.

As an outsider looking in, Piggy does not appear to be fat. In fact, he appears quite slender in the driver's seat of the tiny car he drives. But when he comes out, one would be quite surprised to see the rotund figure with the keys in his hand. It defies the laws of physics to fit that mass in that tiny car, but Piggy does not follow the laws of physics.

"I don't know," he says, as Ralph stares out the window. "Simon seems to be the kind of person who wouldn't make up those kinds of crazy stories, but if you think about it rationally, it just is so…unreal."

"You _are_ the brains between us," Ralph agrees. "But I want to believe it. I think it would be really cool to have some guy trying to destroy The Island but we're here to save it!"

"If that's the case, that isn't a good thing at all," Piggy admonishes severely. "Even if you're basing it all on movies that you watch, you've got to keep in mind that there's a lot of danger involved and remember, you're the only one who can't die by normal means."

"I guess." Ralph rests his chin on his palm, his elbow leaning against the car door although his mother taught him never to lean on car doors because he might fall out. "I wonder how we're supposed to do it, though? We can't just take a gun and shoot the guy's brains out, I don't think."

"Maybe it _is_ that simple," Piggy says. "If he can't heal himself, I don't see why he couldn't just die _just_ because he has powers like us. But the real question really is _how_. We're just a bunch of kids, Ralph. We can't storm a building and expect it to fall like Legos."

Ralph grunts because he doesn't want to hear Piggy's logic just yet. He wants to continue having fantastic daydreams where he swoops in and saves the day. He's a bit too old to be thinking up superhero fantasies, but they're nice to have from time to time. He spots a bit of movement in the sideview mirror and squints to see what it is.

"Piggy," Ralph says.

"Pygmalion," Piggy auto-corrects.

"Look out the rearview mirror." Ralph frowns. "What are those things in the sky?"

Piggy glances and he's just in time to see the silver flying disk flash before he jerks the car to the right to avoid a rush of electricity shot where the sideview mirror had been just seconds before. He glances and realizes that there is no one on the road – not unusual as not many people go to the lake front on a Wednesday afternoon. Ralph shouts and grips at the ceiling.

"What are those things!" he yells. Piggy looks back and swerves again when another disk shoots lightning at them. Rolling down the window, Ralph takes a chance and sticks his head out. A blue bolt of lightning hits him square between the eyes and he yelps and slips back into the car, grabbing at his face.

"Are you alright?" Piggy asks, keeping half his attention on the rearview mirror. Ralph gasps angrily, rubbing the now cooling spot where he was burned. The skin is healing on itself but the moment of pain stings still. "How many of them are there?"

"Hold on," Ralph growls, and sticks his head out the window again. The disks are continuing to follow them, flying at a low altitude to keep up with them. He sees six before he has to duck down from another bolt. "Six," he calls, keeping his hands tight on the roof of the car.

Piggy swings the car to the side again, Ralph holding on and feeling his stomach lurch. "We're not going to be able to outrun them!" the blonde shouts.

"What do you propose we do then?" Piggy yells back. Ralph only spares a second for thought.

"Wrap an arm around me," he commands. "And let me on the roof."

On the road to the lakefront, a blue car speeds by with a boy standing on the roof, fleshy belts wrapped around his waist with the origin stemming back from inside the car. Carefully balanced, Ralph grins. "Come at me, you freaks!" he yells.

The disks keep their distance and begin to shoot sparks at them. A spark misses Ralph's arm and hits the flesh rope around his waist. Piggy's hand, which is right against Ralph's hip, tenses. "_Fuck_!" he hears his friend snarl from inside the car.

"Sorry," Ralph says, studying the disks carefully. They don't fly by any sort of predictable formation but they are keeping close to each other. "Slow down the car, Piggy."

The sparked part of Piggy's arm is turning dark red. "You'd better know what you're doing, Ralph!" Piggy hollers, before stepping on the brakes _hard_. The car suddenly starts to decelerate, the wheels squealing in protest. The disks do not stop as abruptly and Ralph grabs two out of the air and smashes them against each other. The other four fly by, seemingly noticing something amiss. The car is stopped, a couple places singed by the missed lightning bolts, and Ralph takes his chances to throw the ruined disks back to their teammates. With predictable accuracy (he wasn't a baseball player for nothing!), he knocks two out of the sky and they plummet and crash onto the road.

"Shit!" Piggy screams, and quickly shifts the car to reverse as the disks swoop around to charge at the car from the front. Ralph stumbles from the sudden movement and aligns himself. The disks send bolts at the dashboard, cracking it. "Ralph, _do something_!"

"I got it!" Ralph calls, and runs toward the disks. "Give me some slack!" he adds, and jumps off the roof, hands outstretched. He feels a bolt hit his hand and feels a moment of temporary numbness. Nevertheless, he grits his teeth and his hands smack straight on the top of the disks – and he starts his descent.

The first thing he hears when he hits the concrete road is the metallic sound of destruction; the second is the grating of his teeth and chin against it and feels the sharp pain on his face. The car stops behind him and the momentum he is going at sends him flying into the front bumper of the car. How many bones he has broken, he has no idea.

"Oh my God!" he hears Piggy say, and through fuzzy, bloodied sight, he sees the unrelenting ground. He hears the car door slam and a moment later, Piggy turns him over. "Fuck," the boy says, swearing for the second time. "You look horrendous."

"Yeah, I'll be alright," Ralph says, but it comes out lispy because he's knocked out his front teeth. He tries to sit, but it's too painful; instead, he waits until he feels the familiar sensation of bones reconnecting and muscles sewing themselves up – his eyes start to focus again as the blackness erases itself and he feels teeth pop out of his gums again. Yuck; he never thought he'd be teething again.

When he sits up, Piggy is sitting on the ground, next to his now wreck of a car. He is rubbing his arm, which has the ugly red welt from the bolt. He is still tall and lanky from driving and Ralph stares at him. "You should really stay like that, you know," he says, cracking his neck. Besides the blood smeared on the ground, there is no trace of the fall. He did a number on Piggy's bumper. "You look good thin."

"Yeah, if it didn't make me at least seven foot tall," Piggy grumbles, shrinking and expanding until he is his usual fat self. "That didn't take care of the burn at all," he mutters, glowering at the sore.

"Looks like we're not going to be visiting the lake anytime soon," Ralph sighs, before he realizes he is still holding the destroyed disks. "You think Simon will want to take a look at these?"

[=]

Eric thinks the Lord of the Flies has put them both under house arrest, because he isn't able to leave the room. Roger glowers in the corner, looking positively damper. They still get food from a lackey from time to time and they still have access to the bathroom, but otherwise, they have been locked in.

"What are they going to do to us?" Eric asks, feeling uncomfortable in the silence. He watches as some of Roger's muscles spasm from the aftereffects of the tasers. The dark boy grimaces every single time. "Now that Simon's met with that Ralph kid."

"I don't know what they'll do to me," Roger says after a while, lowly. "But they might dispose of you. I don't know what else you could serve for, besides a bargaining chip."

Eric feels a stab of irritation. Now he is like a princess in a castle, impeding everyone. He cannot do anything, yet he knows Sam will do everything he can to save him. He hates inconveniencing people. Roger growls as his arm twitches again. Willing it to stop with pain has only made it worse.

"Wait," Eric says, and he goes into the bathroom and soaks some towels in cold water. Roger watches him carefully through cold, dark eyes as the twin advances anxiously, cold towels in his arms. "It'll help soothe the twitchy parts," he explains, holding out a damp towel. When Roger doesn't resist, Eric lays it experimentally on the young man's arm. "Where else is it bad?"

Roger merely glares at him and gestures curtly at his leg and his side. Eric puts the makeshift cold compresses on each part and after a spur of the moment idea, sits down next to Roger. He knows he is taking a great risk – after all, he hasn't been able to read Roger at all. He hopes he won't be pushed away when all he is trying to do is help.

"You don't have to help me," Roger mutters.

"I want to," Eric maintains. "And anyway, I'll go crazy if I stay to myself." He isn't sure what's making him talk to Roger like this. "I've always been with Sam, so it's weird that I'm not with someone else. It's sort of lonely without him." Anyway, Roger can't be _that_ bad of a person; after the exchange failed, he did not hurt Eric for messing with the plan by informing Sam of the Lord's true intentions. It was, really, his fault.

"I'm not your surrogate companion," Roger bites out. His eyes flash on Eric and the twin gasps as he feels a great pressure on his head, as if he is forcing a too-small bike helmet on. "Don't pity me."

"Stop!" Eric manages to say, although as he expected, Roger does not relent. "I'm only trying to be nice. Look where that gets me," he adds sarcastically. The pressure releases and Eric falls forward. "I always like to think people aren't naturally bad, but I'm starting to think you're just awful."

"You can think whatever you like," Roger hisses, grabbing Eric's arm and shaking him forward. "But remember what position you're in." Eric feels the damp towel soak in through his slacks and knows it will happen before it does so he is not surprised when Roger kisses – no, bites - him and the spot where Roger's gripping him burns.

[=]

The second Simon sets foot in his house, the phone rings. "Mom," he calls out, choosing to ignore the sound. "I'm home!" He drops his books and bag at the door and goes into the kitchen to find something to eat. Learning is taxing on a teenager's stomach. The phone does not relent and he figures if his mother hasn't picked it up yet, she is probably out. "I'll get it," he says to no one.

Balancing a can of soda on his hand and a packet of chips, he reaches for the phone and takes it off its receiver. "Hello?" he chirps. "Green household." He always laughs internally at the pun his surname invokes. But they do try to be environmentally friendly.

"Hello," a male voice replies, and it's much too deep to be Jack or anyone else Simon knows. "I would like to speak with Simon Green, please."

A thousand things explode in Simon's mind but he does not show it. Setting down his snack, he reaches for a pen and glances at the caller ID, but it has been hidden. "Ah…he is not home at the moment…may I take a message? Your name and number, please."

"I know you can see the future," the voice says. Simon almost drops the pen.

"Who is this?" he demands, trying to stop his voice from shaking.

"I am not part of the radical movement," the man on the other line says, sounding a little tired. "I do not mean any bodily harm to you. However, I have intel that states that you are wanted by the head of the radical movement. I would like to explain more but it is risky doing it over the phone. I am a friend and I wish to give you information on how to stop the radical movement, and with it, the leader, the Lord of the Flies."

With the utterance of the name, the image of the man with the pig's head flashes in Simon's mind. He knows he should be more careful, that he should make sure this isn't a real threat, but he does not think about these things when he says, "Alright, when can we meet?"

[=]

Note: Sorry for the late update, this chapter was giving me some difficulties in starting it. To clarify some things: Ralph is not immortal, but he can only die through age since he can't be physically wounded. His ability allows his body to reject any foreign, dangerous substance and to regrow whatever has been damaged. Piggy's ability allows him to be thin, but since he's rubbery, if he chooses to look thin, he ends up stretching. So if he's fat, he's normal height. Thanks for reading, guys! And the informant is actually based on a character in the book, if you can figure it out.


	7. Hark, a Naval Officer

**Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the story idea and only some of the witty remarks. I own so little; so please don't steal.**

Background music: -

[=]

There are a lot of things that could go wrong, Simon knows. He could be walking well into a trap. After all, the Lord of the Flies is after him. But people can't do anything without taking a little risk. He hasn't seen anything bad in his dreams, but then again, he hasn't seen anything about this meeting at all. Sometimes life surprises him.

(He had seen himself tumbling into bed with Jack, but that still surprised him all the same.)

The informant wants to meet in the square, where there is an open area with a glistening fountain in the middle. It is spot on in the middle of The Island, right out in the open where everyone can see them. This is exactly the place where the Lord cannot get them; he works too much in the shadows to venture out into the light to confront him, the man had said over the phone. Simon skips afternoon classes and wanders cautiously into the square; at high noon, businessmen and stay-at-home mothers are chatting and eating lunch and this is no place for a child.

The sun is bright above their heads and Simon squints in the shades. The man said he would know who he was just by looking at him. Well, that could be anyone here. Looking around, he tries to see who does not fit the picture. He quickly eliminates all the women; but there are some men in shades with briefcases. There is a man sitting easily under one of the trees that decorate the square, reading a thick tome. Simon gripes his schoolbag tightly. If only he could expand his powers to a small length into the future, he could at least see something.

His eyes settle on an unsuspecting man, probably in his late forties. He is wearing the typical garb of a middle-aged man, with slowly graying hair. The way he carries himself and the demeanor he gives off suggests a veteran of sorts. He has seen the world and he is not sure if he likes it. Somehow, something about him convinces Simon that this is the man from the phone. He is sitting in front of a café under an umbrella, in plain view of everyone in the square. Simon takes a breath and walks over to him.

"You are…"

The man does not look up from his coffee. He is studying it carefully, like it is a mysterious, unworldly object. "You couldn't see me, could you," he says in answer to Simon's unfinished question. "Your powers are not developed enough to that point." Finally he looks up, and his eyes are tired and are beginning to look as if they are developing glaucoma. "Simon Green, the pleasure's all mine."

"Ah, yes." Awkwardly shuffling over to the seat across from the man, Simon sits himself down and lets his bag drop to the ground. "Your name…"

"It doesn't matter anymore," the man says, waving the question away. "My part is done. I was a player a while ago but the Lord has displaced me. But if you must call me something, Crusoe." He let this sink in before continuing. "I have much to say, so please get comfortable. Would you like anything? My treat."

"No, thank you."

Crusoe nods, as if Simon passes his test. "I will start at the beginning, so please try and keep up." There is nothing else; no frills or small talk to lead up to the big idea. Simon licks his lips nervously and switches his brain to record mode. "You and I, and your little group, are part of a small, collective group of individuals called 'specials'. Nice and original, isn't it? From the research that specials before us have gathered state that there is something in certain humans' genetic code changes the makeup of that person and gives them unusual powers. I was not aware of my own power – foresight, like yours – until I was in my twenties and I had joined the navy. I would wake up at night with the vivid images of things to come, and when they occurred in higher frequency, I had to retire prematurely. I knew such information was dangerous, especially when you're involved in the military.

"I wandered around for some time, lost and afraid of my own skills. I happened to stumble upon the Counsel a couple years later and they graciously took me in. The Counsel is…or was, a group of influential specials that dictated the rules and regulations regarding other specials. Our powers allow us to have a clear advantage over ordinary humans, so we need someone to keep a check and balance to make sure none of us are abusing our abilities. To realize what gift you have and to find others like you early on is a fortunate thing. In the past, the Counsel had specials stationed all over the world to make sure young or new specials had a place and someone to turn to in their discovery stage.

"I say _was_ because the Counsel is no more. The Counsel had their headquarters here at The Island, where they maintained an outward appearance as an insignificant corporation. However, they were able to keep contact with all the branches outside The Island and kept a close watch on the coming and goings of the specials in the world. I was an officer in the navy and they allowed me a low-ranking place on the Counsel. Foreseers are extremely uncommon, you know; what we have is a unique power.

"A year or so ago, a young man came to the Counsel in seek of aid. He had the power of shape-shifting and it had backfired to disfigure him. He had not been able to change back to his former human self and he had somehow convinced himself that the Counsel had the power to turn him back to normal. While we were a Counsel of specials, we have no more powers over others than the ordinary government has on its people. The Counsel is there to keep order; that's all. We told the young man that his power was his own and if he could draw deep within himself, he could tap his power again and reverse its effects. In short, we could do nothing but advise him. He accepted these words and left.

"A couple months later, the man was back. He stormed into the Counsel's headquarters and slaughtered all the specials in his path. We attempted to reason with him but he had amassed a following and easily overcame us. It was a coup. I managed to sneak out from the fray, but his targets to begin with was the heads of the Counsel who had, in his opinion, damned him to his appearance by not turning him back. That was the rise of the Lord of the Flies, and he has been staying in the headquarters since."

[=]

Jack looks at the silver disk in Ralph's eager hands. "What is that," he deadpans.

"This, my dear ginger," Ralph says, "is the menace that chased us and totally tore up Piggy's car. You should see the thing. It's like scrap metal now. But hey! We were thinking you could use your powers to see where the hell this thing came from and who sent it! Genius, isn't it?" He beams at Piggy, who does not smile back. Jack thinks the fatty is upset at the state of his car. In his defense, Jack supposes he would be too.

"We should wait for Sam and Simon too," Jack maintains. "We're in a group effort."

"We can't afford to wait for them," Ralph says exasperatedly in a way that makes Jack know that he has been waiting for the college student to get out of class to get him out of a state of suspense. He has quite the life; underage boys are always attacking him after lectures. "If this thing really poses some kind of threat, we've got to know _now_ so we can warn them! And come on. A touch won't hurt."

"You're a prat," Jack shoots, but he leads them to a secluded corner on campus. Sitting down on the grass, he waves at Ralph to hand him the disk. It looks exactly like the ones that chased him and Simon weeks ago. Truthfully, he would like to know what has sent them too. Ralph drops to the grass quickly as Piggy slowly eases himself down. "Come on. Hand it over."

"Careful with it," Piggy warns as Ralph nearly tosses it at Jack.

"What do you mean," Jack scowls at Piggy. "It looks plenty broken and I can use my power on anything, whatever condition."

"I _mean_," Piggy retorts testily, "if it's going to blow up in your face, you wouldn't like that, would you?" He snorts indignantly. "I try and look out for you and this is the thanks I get."

"Don't you have class?" Jack grumbles, taking the disk carefully in his hands, running his fingers on the metal. It appears smooth, or it used to be – now it is scratched up and the machine parts inside are threatening to spill out like a gutted pig. Lights that would have been flashing are now dull.

"Okay, I'm not going to keep such a dangerous piece of thing in my locker the whole day," Ralph says, rolling his eyes. "If Piggy didn't stop me, I was going to take it to you yesterday, but he told me to wait until today after school. But come on, I'm not going to do that. And a couple classes skipped isn't going to do me any harm."

"I didn't know you two went to the same school," Jack says, eying the two. While Ralph is dressed casually – public school garb- Piggy is wearing a neat button-up and pressed slacks.

"We don't," Ralph explains. "But our schools are somewhat close and I pulled him out of class to accompany me. I don't trust meeting with you alone. You could kill me." He raises his eyebrows suggestively and Jack nearly throws the broken disk in his face. Bastard. He runs his fingers over the metal again and suddenly he sees.

[=]

"The embassies overseas for the Counsel are only aware that there has been an exchange of power. They trust in the Counsel to tell them how to act. They are not aware of the Lord's intentions. Any special attempting to get into contact with the specials abroad have either been put in custody or killed. The Lord is keeping close watch on specials' communication to make sure the messages he sends the embassies are the ones approved by him. So far, he has not given them any offensive directions, but I believe they will rise up at his call. They are mindlessly following him; they don't even conceive that there is an anti-humanity movement rising.

"From what I gather, the Lord has two goals: one is to eliminate the human race – he blames them for scarring him and has made cases that specials and humans cannot coexist peacefully. Humans with powers will forever be under the scrutiny and terror of humans without powers, he claims. Radicals have joined him under this philosophy. The second part of his goals is to make a primary special planet. He does not approve of our need to live secretly. He has appointed himself the leader of this uprising. His first mission is to take over The Island, and with that, the world.

"Recently, I have gotten dreams where you show up. Flashes of you; and you are part of the Lord's Most Wanted list. A couple of nights ago, I finally got your name and I tracked you down. If you, a mere child, pose a threat to the Lord, then I have to assume you can do something to topple his growing reign. If that is the case, I must assist you. I can give you information, information valuable to possibly vanquishing the Lord of the Flies.

"First, I know the layout of the headquarters. The Lord has not left the building since he has seized power due to his paranoia that leaving will be dangerous. I can give you accurate blueprints for you to take it in a siege. Second, I am going to guess that neither you nor your team has much knowledge on specials, so I can provide you that too. The passing on of special data has been a ritual from seasoned specials to novices.

"Third, and most important, I can teach you how to hone your power. The art of foresight can be welded in more sophisticated ways than the random spots you have now. With my teaching, you will be able to see short distances into the future and control what parts you can see. I wish to help you refine your abilities to have them serve more use to you in the future. I apologize I have no one to help your friends, but I expect they are worthy individuals who can figure out these things for themselves. From what I have seen, they have relatively malleable abilities and are easy to fine-tune. Do you accept my offer?"

[=]

Jack sees them in rapid succession. The creation of the separate parts of the disks. The scientists working on them. The sending of this disk, along with a couple others, to an office in a dark building. A man with a pig's head – this terrifying man – is inputting data into them. A manila folder; two – one with Ralph's picture and stats and one with Piggy's. The discharge of these disks from the roof of the dark building. The figure with the pig's head watches as they fly off to their targets. Jack shoots past these fragments of the disk's memory and he cannot stop the train and get off. He rides the memories to the end.

Assassins. These are metal assassins sent by the man Simon talked about. Jack feels himself jolt back to the present. Ralph and Piggy are watching him curiously, with concern. "Well?" Ralph asks, with a hushed, forced calm. "What did you see?"

"The Lord of the Flies." The name spills out of his mouth. Where did it come from?

"…what?" Piggy scrunches up his face. "I've never heard of such a thing."

"It's a person," Jack says, feeling a chill up his spine. These things had been programmed for him and Simon earlier. "The man Simon talked about. With the pig's head. The one with Sam's brother and the one who wants us dead."

"Shit," Ralph swears, in awe. "It's _real_." They sit there in shocked silence, before he digs into his pocket to pull out his phone. "I gotta call Simon. He's got to know! And Sam too. Piggy, you call Sam. Jack, can you get anything else?"

"Look, some things only have the memory of places and things they've been with. I can't just look into the scenes imprinted in them and see parts of it. It's just what this thing's been through." Jack frowns at him as Ralph presses the phone to his ear. Piggy is already chatting with Sam, telling them to meet.

"That's funny," Ralph says, looking troubled. "Simon didn't pick up." Piggy shuts up. Jack blinks once.

"You don't think…"

"We have to find out," Ralph announces, shooting to his feet. "Let's go find Simon."

[=]

Note: Hopefully this answered a few questions you might have had. I hope I tied up all the loose ends and incontinuity problems! That's the issue with multi-fics, you gotta cover all the grounds. And yes, this is indeed the naval officer from the end of the book. He does save them, or attempts to, at least. Thanks for reading!


	8. Plans are Made

**Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the story idea and only some of the witty remarks. I own so little; so please don't steal.**

Background music: -

[=]

"What you have to understand, young Simon, is that specials are not as their name suggests. We are nothing more than ordinary human beings with a little bit more genetic makeup than the average person. Just because we have powers does not mean we are invincible or supernatural. The Lord can only change forms, and he has been handicapped for some time. That is why he needs so many specials minions so he can cover every single ground.

"Therefore, once you come face to face with him, he is just as vulnerable as you or me. Any sort of human means to kill a person is fair game. Once he falls, his whole regime will fall with it. Granted, there will be a power struggle afterwards, but it is preferable than the present status quo.

"Specials usually only have one ability, although it is not unheard of for some specials to have two. However, these are extremely rare, as are offensive abilities. Oftentimes, the specials you meet will have what we refer to as 'soft powers' such as reading minds or shape-shifting. I know you have a friend who can twist his body into different shapes; but that is not common and will be useful in your plan to overcome the Lord.

"But we have much to do before you can even begin your plans. First, we must help develop your ability. Reading the future is quite easy once you get the hang of it. It's grasping for hypothetical straws. You just have to trust that there is a future you will see. You must let yourself go completely into the sands of time before you can control what you see. You cannot doubt yourself or you will not be able to specifically locate certain events. You will have large mental blocks at the beginning, but I trust that you will be able to tap at the source of your powers and wield them.

"We must call our meeting to an end for now. Your friends are trying to find you at the moment. Please keep our correspondence a secret, as my company is not very desirable at the moment. Until we meet again, I wish you luck on your endeavors."

[=]

Roger's head is never silent. In order to infiltrate people's brains and gain access to their nerve fibers to inflict pain, his mind must always be on the constant, buzzing wavelength to impose his will on other mind waves. If his mind is quiet, he will not be able to attack on the fly; and he has already forgotten how to turn off the static.

He supposes he could always blame his mother – his lazy, whorish mother who always kept his door and legs open. She self-appointed herself the neighborhood comfort and he was a product of one of these trysts. His father was already married but enjoyed dope and extramarital sex on the side – one of his earliest memories, his mother and the man on the couch, uncomprehending and negligent.

His childhood neighborhood is not a place where troubled youth can seek guidance; in fact, it is the place where troubled youth go when guidance has forsaken them. Staying home at a place where he may as well be home alone triggers a strange busy signal in his head that frightens him. Leaving the place that smells of sex and smoke, he tries to find solace on the streets. It is hard, but there is nothing else he can do – and the buzzing gets worse.

It reaches the point where, in a street fight, he angrily wishes that his opponent would just die and right then and there, the other boy suffers a heart attack. Roger does not stick around long enough to find out if he survives or not.

Going home is a fruitless decision but he drops by for one last time. His mother is gaunt and listless, sprawled on the floor, and he can only get out from her that the man who is his father is gone, off to rot in a jail somewhere. When he goes to leave her, someone comes through the door to the living room where his mother is and something else explodes in Roger's mind; the last memory of his mother is her shriek but he does not know what he did to her.

Being taken in by the Lord startles him somewhat. He is in one place for an extended period of time, which he is not used to. There is a sense of tension in the waves that surround the building, and it is not only because of the protective shielding it has. It makes the buzz in his mind jump at times, which serves to make him more anxious. Roger is not a solitary human – he does not like taking orders, but the Lord's goals cross paths with his (which he does not know, but destruction sounds like a nice ending) at several points so he sticks along for the ride.

He does not like being a babysitter, but he is forced to stay with the rather noisy twin. Eric embodies almost everything Roger dislikes – he talks too much, he pokes his nose into things that do not concern him, and he kicks and fights like he is powerful, like he is worth something. In the grand story, he is just a speck that can be eliminated. People don't often see that about themselves, Roger realizes. They go around their lives thinking they are important, that they can change things.

He could easily squash Eric, but he has orders not to. But there is something else. Eric's mind is different, maybe because he can also jump into minds too. When Roger reaches in to play with nerves, there is a soothing sound that mixes with his conflicted static – something like waves or the wind. It throws him off and bothers him. It makes the roaring falter and listen.

And when they kiss, it goes completely silent. Nothing.

Nothing else changes, but Roger can _hear_.

It is truly an unnatural phenomenon, Roger knows. He wonders what sort of influence Eric holds, what kind of power he has that he has not shown anyone yet. He is so small, and defenseless as he sleeps, knowing full well Roger is in the room. Roger watches Eric sleep, the calm, settled face he makes, and ponders the idea that psychokinesis is not always unpleasant.

[=]

"Simon! We were so worried; we thought they'd gotten to you!"

Ralph meets him halfway from his meeting place with Crusoe and Jack's university and the moment they see each other, Ralph rushes over and scoops Simon up into his arms. The gesture startles Simon, as Simon never considered Ralph to be the publicly affectionate type, and he flushes. To be honest, he and Ralph have only known each other for a couple days and they have only talked for about half of one of those days. Pygmalion follows behind, along with Sam and Jack.

If Simon had to consider of them to be the one who lifts him up in the air with an embrace, it would be, no matter how farfetched, Jack. After all, they are the ones who have known each other for the longest – not to mention, not to mention…but Jack gives him a disgusted look and looks away, so Simon returns his attention to Ralph, who is burying his head into his chest.

"What do you mean, _they_ got to me?"

Ralph looks up to him and finally returns him to his feet again, but does not back away and maintains his close proximity. "So this disk thingie attacked me and Piggy and totally tore up the car, but we managed to take one back and had Jack analyze it with his powers or whatever. And it's true! The guy you've been talking about, the guy with the pig's head? He's been sending them and trying to kill us!"

Simon blinks. But this is common knowledge; he reminds himself that they have not talked to Crusoe and do not know what he knows. "Oh," he says. "Of course he is."

They gape at him. "How do you know that?" Sam asks. "I mean, I know you've had your dreams, but…for sure?"

"Ah…" Simon gives him a huge fake smile. "I have my sources."

"Well, now that we've recollected Simon and he's completely fine," Piggy says, in a voice that suggests that he has been telling the others that their concern is uncalled for, "let's go actually plan this thing out. If we're going to take down this Lord of the Flies guy, we're going to have to map out what we're gonna do. Come on." Sam nods in agreement, although they don't know where to go now.

"We can go back to my house," Ralph says in the lull, and begins to lead them in that direction. Jack falls behind in step with Simon, ignoring Ralph and Piggy's loud conversation, that Sam has half-joined in.

"Where were you?"

"I was…" Simon shrugs. "Doing research." It wasn't a lie. He shoves his hands in his pockets.

"Why couldn't we contact you?" Jack looks unconvinced. "If we're going to be on a team, you can't be keeping anything from us. If you know something we don't, you should tell us. We need to be on the same page if we're going to work together."

"I _am_ going to tell you what I've found out," Simon insists. "Why are you so concerned about it? I'm not going to get ourselves killed."

"You're the one who dragged us all into this. I'm not going to let you do your own thing and keep us in the dark. We're a _team_, aren't we? You should have told us where you were going. They were going to have a search party go find you, you know." Jack gestures at the others in front of them.

"Who died and made you chief?" Simon asks irritatedly. "I don't have to tell you everything I do. You're not my mother."

"_Someone_ has to be in charge. We can't go around doing whatever we please. There has to be order." Jack doesn't know why every time he talks to Simon, he just feels annoyed. He and Simon clash every time they interact, and he isn't even trying to be mean. If they cannot get along, he doesn't know why he bothers. "I'm not trying to be mad at you; I'm just trying to get us all to get along."

"We _are_ getting along. You don't have to throw around the authority that you don't have to do that." Simon's eyes are icy and he storms ahead to join the others. Jack bites his tongue and kicks at a stone on the ground. He is older than this; he does not need to have children lead him around. Sam turns around and Jack hears a faint _what's wrong_ in his head, but it is so immaterial it could be his imagination.

[=]

Simon debriefs them all on what he has learned, but tells them he has to withhold the source. "I can't tell you where I got this information," he admits. "But it's completely creditable. Trust me." They cannot get him to talk any more about it, so they decide to turn their sights on the next task in line.

"We've got to get into the building where Eric is held," Ralph says. "Then we can save your brother." He looks at Sam, who nods in approval. "It's better to have _both_ twins to storm the Lord of the Flies's headquarters, which we still don't really know where it is."

"Maybe this is a far stretch," Piggy says slowly, and everyone turns to him, "but would it be reasonable to assume that the one who kidnapped your brother is the Lord of the Flies himself? I mean, obviously the one holding him hostage doesn't have a pig's head…but say…couldn't he be working for him?" When no one answers, he goes on. "It makes sense. The disks that have been attacking us have been sent by the Lord of the Flies. It's obvious he wants us dead for some reason – to stop us from stopping him, according to Simon – and Eric _did_ take you three to a place where they had planned to kill Simon…so…maybe it's not something we should rule out."

"It's a large leap of faith," Sam points out.

"Have you had any visions about it?" Jack asks, turning to Simon. The dark-haired boy shakes his head. "I haven't seen any sign of Eric from the disks or even from that letter fragment. But it would be easier to group the two instead of having to go against two different enemies."

"What would anyone else want with Eric?" Piggy asks logically. "He has a tie with our group, which is Sam. Somehow, the Lord must know that we're all working together. Then it would only make sense that he's holding Eric hostage to try and draw us out." He leans back. "Therefore, we can deduct that where Eric is, the Lord should be close by. He's not going to let someone as important as Eric be taken from his side from under his nose. So Simon, you said you could get us the blueprints. If we know what building the Lord is in, we can save Eric on our way to killing the Lord of the Flies."

There is a silence. "That's so damn simple," Ralph whistles. "Just like that! Amazing, Piggy. You're _so_ the brains of the operation."

"We may get blueprints," Jack agrees darkly, "but that doesn't mean we know what's _in_ all the rooms. We will know the layout and where rooms are, but we still need surveillance. And Sam hasn't been able to get in touch with his brother, so we don't have an indoor guy. Simon can't see where we need to go with his visions. So how are we going to tackle that?"

There is another silence, before Piggy breaks into a grin. "I'm not going to toot my own horn, but I'm a pretty good hacker." He shrugs. "I haven't hacked into any sort of mainframe, but I'm pretty sure I can find instructions on Google or something."

As everyone makes their way to leave, Ralph catches Simon and Jack in the foyer. Jack is kneeling down and tying his shoes. "Simon, can I talk to you?" Ralph asks excitedly, reaching for his arm. Simon looks at them, then down at Jack.

"In private?"

"Oh, no, Jack can hear, I don't care," Ralph dismisses. "Hey, listen…I know this is _kinda_ the wrong time, but…I was wondering…and you can totally slap me if this is out of line…bu_uu_t, I was wondering if you would like to go on a date with me?" He puts his hands up. "I know, I know, this is really sudden and really random of me, but it can be a…a duo team building experience if you don't like the whole date thing. This is coming out really weird." Ralph pauses and thinks. "Okay, the main idea is that I think you're a pretty cool kid and I think it would be pretty cool if you would go out with me. _Not_ that this is going to somehow impact anything about what we're doing…keeping business separate from pleasure and that crap. Okay, I'm talking a lot. And you say…" Ralph makes a sweeping gesture that implies that it's Simon's turn to speak.

Simon blinks. This is unexpected. The hug, and now this? He did not see this coming at all. He glances down at Jack, who is still taking an unbelievably long time to tie a pair of laces. The idiot could have at least given them their privacy. It's not like Jack actually cares other than nagging at them because he is the oldest. "Alright," Simon blurts, before he can change his mind. "I'll take you up on that."

"Score!" Ralph cheers, pumping his fist in the air. "Hey, hey…I'll take you home. We can talk about it then. You can find your own way back, right, Jack?" They look down at Jack, who is still, before suddenly standing.

"I don't need the help of children," Jack sniffs, turning to the door. "Do whatever you like." He does not feel bad for slamming the door behind him. He hopes he breaks it.

[=]

Note: Strangely, although this gave me a HUGE headache when I first tried to write this chapter, when I sat down due to my huge amount of time resulting from a day off, I finished this in about half an hour. I really want to tie up all the loose strings, so if there's something that I haven't addressed or something I explained badly, please comment about it so I can see what I can do. BUT OH tension is fun to write. Thanks for reading!


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